Ghost
by asexualbillcipher
Summary: Stanley Pines dies fighting Bill Cipher and his plans finally get set into motion. Stanford, a few weeks out of the portal, has to deal with the aftermath- caring for the kids, a certain familiar engineer reentering his life, his own grief, and Bill continuing to bring about the end of the world-but even if he's traversed space and time, he's only one man.


Stanley Pines dies fighting Bill Cipher and his plans finally get set into motion. Stanford, a few weeks out of the portal, has to deal with the aftermath- caring for the kids, a certain familiar engineer reentering his life, his own grief, and Bill continuing to bring about the end of the world-but even if he's traversed space and time, he's only one man.

Hello readers! Thanks for stopping in, pull up a chair and a warm cup of tea; this is a fic best read on a rainy day. This began as an exploration of Ford's grieving process; what would he do if his brother was ripped from him as suddenly as Ford had been ripped from Stanley 30 odd years ago? Would he come to realize how important people are, family is, or would he be still blinded by his pride and be always unable to cope with existing around other people? His paranoia, PTSD and other mental illnesses from the portal and even before affect his life in this dimension more than he could ever predict. Many flashbacks into his past life, both from this dimension and others, and I hope this can bloom into an exploration of Ford's life, as he realizes things aren't always better if you're alone. Fiddleford helps him through Stanley's death almost as much as his niece and nephew do, as the relationship they left in shambles is dealt with. It's sad and harsh; warnings for abuse themes, both child and adult, dubcon, violence, alcohol and alcoholism mentions, suicide and self-harm, self-destructive behavior and of course major character death. Other warnings will be listed as chapters go up. Feedback is always appreciated!

EDIT: hey i originally wrote this BEFORE Journal 3 came out so anything that doesn't jive with it, I'm truly sorry

* * *

 _PRELUDE_

 _The man looked up._

 _The sky above is the color of fire, streaks of bright oranges and red reflected in the glassy calm waters of Lake Gravity Falls._

 _Dead leaves crunch under footfall as he crept through the undergrowth into the clearing, feeling suddenly exposed. The world seemed to narrow to a point, and a rush of fear swept down his spine and set in his stomach setting his nerves on fire. Fight or flight. Colors oversaturated and his head and eyes burned, everything here felt vibrant and ultra-real. He shook._

 _Stanley. He was just here, just by his side. Where had he gone?_

 _There, across the lake, a stocky and silhouetted figure stood facing away from him. It had to be him. He tried to call for his brother but only strangled noises burst from his throat, an alien language. He found he couldn't remember how to speak in this world's languages. Stanley couldn't understand. He leapt towards him._

 _He grappled at his hip, fingers scraping his empty side and failing to grasp the combat knife he always kept on his person. Where had he left it? Why would he have ever taken it off, didn't he know better by now? You fool, he repeated it like a mantra to himself, a familiar mantle well worn._

 _For the first time in years, this fear of loss was overwhelming_

 _He looks up, pleading with his eyes and reaching his hand toward his brother. But the scene before him was suddenly different and he's disoriented with the shift and the whorl as colors change. It takes a few moments, a shake of his head for him to readjust. The lake and his brother are replaced by the basement, his lab, black as ink. He had dismantled the portal, it lay scattered in ruins at his feet, but harsh blue light permeated the room still. Him. Panic he had been fighting rose in his throat, choking his words, his breathing. Fight won out over flight. He struggled violently to move, to stop the scene about to play as it dawned on him; he had witnessed this before._

 _Red dripping down his face, his arms, he's soaked in blood. Stanley looks at him, and shouts. He wishes to god he hadn't._

 _"_ _You did this, Sixer!"_

 _His head pulses, a horrible shrieking laugh ringing out that left his vision with white spots and his ears ringing. Blue light danced outside his eyelids and he squeezed his eyes shut, but still but he's sinking. "Sixer!" is repeated over and over amid the cacophony, jeering and insulting him. He sucks in one last breathe as panic overtakes his flailing and struggling body. He's swallowed by the muck._

 _"It's the end of the world."_

Stanford woke with a start, hands flying to the crossbow just by his hand and was on his feet in seconds. His vision was blurry and he didn't register he was missing his glasses, and thoughts raced through his foggy mind at 100 mile per hour. Had he been poisoned? His heart crashed against his ribcage as he peered into the dark, crossbow raised, ready for whatever horrifying monster lay in wait for him. Slowly, he realized where he was. He let out a shaky sigh of relief, letting his arms fall to his side and then collapsing back into his chair.

He was in Dimension 46'\\. Earth. _Home._ His ears were still ringing. He thinks he hears his name being screamed and maniacal laughter, and attempts to push it out of his mind.

His coat where he had laid his head to rest on his arms was soaked, not with tears but with sweat. He slicked greasy hair back out of his face and put his glasses back on his face; they had fallen off when he had moved in his sleep. It was too dark to see, and the dark made him anxious, so he reached over and flipped a lamp on with shaking fingers.

He sat slumped at his desk, his head in his hands, palms pressed hard against his eyes for seemingly ages. His eyes and head ached, and a particular sharp ringing resonated through him, the kind that could only be produced by a metal plate in one's head.

He didn't know why he bothered with sleep anymore. He knew what would happen. He had allowed himself to fall asleep at his desk, coat and glasses still on. Before this he had been awake for…looking at the time and date on his watch, he estimated 70 hours. Not his record for being awake by any means, but exhaustion was very preferable to the haunting images he knew would be there in his dreams.

He thought of Dimension 324r, the one with medication for everything. He thought of needles piecing his veins, almost every night for months. A vial labeled "Dream Eater". He only slept soundly for the longest time in that world.

Often for those grieving immense loss, sleep became an escape; for Stanford Pines, sleep was more of a prison.

He glances up, thinking about how much time he must be wasting sitting here he could be using to stop Bill Cipher.

He glances out the window. Streams of early morning sunlight burst into his room. His room was bathed in tones of red and goldenrod.

He squinted. Sunrise.


End file.
